All I Want For Christmas
by SleeplessShinyOne
Summary: It's Christmas Day and Germany can't find Italy anywhere. Where could he be, and why is everyone so drunk? A oneshot, albeit in November, that's designed to get you in the holiday spirit and also overwhelm you with fluff. K plus for creative other-language curses.


A/N: I am such a hypocrite.

No, really.

Perusing people's Tumblrs, begging silently "Post! Update! Reblog! Type something! Comment! Throw this neglected Internet citizen a bone! Prove I am not lost in this world, not abandoned!" When I'm done screaming and scaring my cats, I very sheepishly push away the laptop and whisper under my breath to its judging screen, "Sorry, FanFiction, I'm lazy/ have exams/ need food/ am tired. Another day, okay?" And then today I realized what I was doing.

It's criminal.

If I am going to bitch about a lack of updates, even on _this site_, I am going to update myself, in a way. With oneshots.

SO THERE.

And oh, yes, it's Germany and Italy. Because it's always them. ALWAYS.

Non-canon, assuming everyone lives in the same apartment building.

It's not Christmas yet, but it's a fun theme. Dx

* * *

**All I Want For Christmas...**

* * *

"Ngh?"

Germany opened one eye, then closed it. It was 6:23, and he didn't usually get out of bed until 6:25. He stretched anyway, preparing himself to get dressed and go to the gym to lift some weights.

"What the…" The blonde suddenly realized that the date on his alarm clock said _December 25..._Christmas. Italy should have been in his room three hours ago, shaking the life out of him and shouting at him to wake up.

Germany wouldn't have been worried any other day. Italy, the laziest person Germany knew, loved his sleep, often choosing to just waste the day laying in bed, snoring away, in sheer bliss. But missing a chance to irritate him on _Christmas? _This was new.

"Italy…?" He cautiously sat up, swinging his legs out of bed. Heading down the narrow hallway, he pulled open the door and walked down the apartment corridor.

"Italy!" Getting worried now, he rapped briskly at the brunette's apartment door with a knuckle. A low moan emitted from behind it. "Ngh, whaaat?"

_Verdammt. _That was France's voice… why would France be in Italy's room? Unprovoked anger and jealousy spread like fire through the blonde, and he slammed the door open.

"France! What the hell are you doing here? This is Italy's apartment!"

Closer inspection revealed the usually sharp and witty European nation to be completely hungover. His face was pale, he was sprawled on Italy's living-room couch, and he had a bucket in front of him. His silky hair, ordinarily his pride and joy to show off, hung limply into his bloodshot eyes. He looked positively miserable.

"Foutre, this is Italy's apartment? I thought it was mine. No wonder the key didn't work. England had to smash a window." France coughed, turning away to hack harder and lean over the bucket. Germany winced, but there were more pressing matters to attend to than France's vulgar behavior.

"England's here too?! You smashed a window!?"

"Did somebody say my name?" France's rival raised his head blearily from behind the sofa. England looked, if possible, even worse than France. His clothes were a haphazard mismatch of a frilly tux shirt and pajama pants, and he smelled heavily of alcohol.

"Why are you in Italy's apartment?" Germany barked at the pair now, losing his patience.

"Too loud," France wailed, clumsily throwing the arm not currently holding the bucket over his ears.

"He told you, didn't he? We were drunk and thought it was our apartment…" England trailed off, shuffling over and reaching for France's bucket.

"There's a hole in your story! You two don't share an apartment!" Germany pointed an accusatory finger at the pair.

"We were arguing fiercely and wanted to finish the argument somewhere." France's speech was surprisingly coherent. "Do you not know of our Christmas Eve tradition? We get raging drunk together and-"

"we regret it every year," England finished, retching unpleasantly into the pail.

"I did not ever know of this pastime because I am a responsible, mature person who goes to bed at a respectable time!" Germany roared, causing both hungover nations to wince and pathetically attempt to hide behind one another. "Now did you kick Italy out of his apartment or what?"

"Italy was here?" France raised an eyebrow. "I didn't see him."

After scrutinizing him for a moment, Germany decided he was telling the truth. "Fine. When I come back here in one hour, you two must not be here and that window must be fixed."

He shut the door firmly on the sound of weak protests and pleas for mercy.

_I'll kill them one of these days, _he vowed.

* * *

"All right. Italy, where are you?" Germany muttered to himself, continuing his path down the hallway. He popped his head into the lobby, where America was hastily taping together a present. The bespectacled man, apparently hearing footsteps, hid said present behind his back.

"Hello! Merry Christmas, Engl-, oh, it's you, Germany. Hi!" At ease, he removed the package from hiding and started wrapping it again. _Somebody_ had procrastinated his Christmas gifts.

"You too, America, but I have rather urgent matters to attend to. Have you seen-"

America immediately interrupted. "No, I haven't seen England, have you?"

"No, America. The world does not revolve around you and thus you cannot assume I was referring to England. But he is hungover in Italy's apartment-"

"Oh, good! Now I can finish his gifts! Thanks a bunch, Germany!" America's voice had an obnoxiously loud tone to it that the brusque man of few words disliked.

"AMERICA!" Germany was forced to shout over the string of babbling. "ITALY! HAVE YOU SEEN HIM?"

Completely misreading his social cues, America shouted back. "NOOO!" He grinned, as if shouting everything was a new, fun game. "BUT YOU COULD TRY PRUSSIA'S! HE HAD A PARTY LAST NIGHT! GERMANY? GERMANY! WHERE ARE YOU GOING! I WAS TELLING YOU STUFF!"

Germany was walking away already, stuffing his fingers into his ears. That boy was hopeless. Especially during the holidays, where the cheer of the times became too much and made him bounce off the walls, gleeful to the point of being sickening and annoying.

"Prussia's, huh?" Germany murmured.

* * *

Reaching the end of the hall, Germany got into the elevator, nodding to the only other occupant- Japan. The polite, dark-haired man bowed his head in return, adding "Happy Christmas."

"You too," Germany smiled briefly. Japan was one of the handful of nations he could tolerate. They rode together in companionable silence until floor four was reached and a ding rang out. This was Prussia's floor.

"Good day," the blonde told Japan as he got out of the elevator. Japan bowed and repeated the sentiment, then was gone.

"Oh no," Germany muttered, seeing suite D-114's door literally torn off the hinges. _This must be where England and France got drunk, _he speculated. His reckoning wasn't entirely off. Red plastic cups and tinsel littered the chairs and couches, and quite possibly every piece of glass that Prussia owned lay smashed on the wood floor. People in various states of undress, dishevelment and indignance glared at him. Prussia was laying on his table, decked out in a Santa hat and tinsel that had been wrapped all around his legs. A Burger King crown, perched on top of his head as if in an afterthought, read "Da King Of Awsum." Germany would have bet his two shiny boots every single person at this party had been totally drunk when they did that, otherwise he feared for humanity's future.

"Whaaat? Come in, haave a drink, Germany, merry Christmas...!" slurred Da King Of Awsum himself.

"Ah, no thanks. Have you seen Italy?" Germany tried to avoid looking around so his soul wouldn't be scarred. Even so, he counted twelve non-Italy people and one sober-seeming Austria frowning in a corner.

"Your wimpy friend didn't even come," Prussia yawned.

"Okay... goodbye." Germany made a hasty exit. (They had somehow managed to trash the hallway too, he noted.)

* * *

"I guess I'll just wait," Germany sighed, flopping down in his favorite chair once he got back to his own apartment. Suddenly, he saw three giant boxes in front of his Christmas tree.

"Um, who got in here?" He had very strict security standards. Only Italy had a key.

Wait... Italy?

Was he stupid enough to...

Germany tore open the first and then the second box. A LEGO army set and a new winter coat. The LEGOs were a bit childish, but he admitted to himself he did need a new coat.

The last box had rips in the side- very unlike the artsy Italy's style. They were actually more holes than rips...

"Merry Christmas, Germany!" Italy yelled as he popped out of the box, hugging Germany with absolute enthusiasm.

"Uh, you too, I guess," Germany's cheeks burned scarlet and he tried his best to hug back in a soldierly, stern way. "Why are you in a box?"

"Silly Doitsu, don't you see? I'm your present!"

"Uh." Germany was at a complete loss for words.

"Will you be my present too?" Italy's eyes shone with hope and joy. Germany sighed.

"I don't know, I suppose."

"Yay!" Italy bounced around, clinging to Germany's hand like a brown-haired, big-eyed yo-yo.

"It's like that song, right?" Italy raised his voice and sung, with heartbreakingly adorable happiness. "All I want for Christmas is you!"

Germany really still couldn't think of anything to say. But his blush said enough.

"See, I hung up mistletoe, and decorated your house... when you were asleep last night..."

"Mistletoe?"

"Yeah! It's a tradition! Then, I let England and France decorate the bathrooms."

"You let who do what?!"

"And America drew on your windows with window paint!"

"WHAT!?" He yanked aside the curtains to reveal red, white and blue stars and "God Bless America" on the entire window.

"And Prussia and his friends wanted to help out, so I let them make snow sculptures on your balcony and then I let them decorate all of your closets!"

"Why do the closets need to be decorated?!" Germany exploded. "This will take weeks to undo!"

"Exactly! Christmas is super long this year!" Italy gave a wink and a smile.

"This is indeed going to be a long Christmas Day," Germany sighed.

* * *

_La Fin_


End file.
